Mom, Why is There a Timelord in Our Kitchen?
by how to be a nerdfighter
Summary: If you found a secret portal that led to an alternate universe where all of your favorite TV show characters were real, how would you react? Sierra and Mattie were thrilled. At first, they loved it, but they quickly find out that living two lives isn't as awesome as it seems. Watch out for some other characters who might make an appearance. R&R, please!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Hello, there. I see you've clicked onto my fanfiction here. I hope you do enjoy it. Reviews are appreciated, oh and I didn't want to put this in the crossover section, as it is mostly a Doctor Who fic, but there will be a cameo by Sherlock Holmes. Okay, now back to the story.**_

* * *

Whovians.

That's what they called themselves. Whovians.

Sierra never understood the concept of the show. It was science fiction, about time and space or something or the other. She knew there was a man with a blue police box, and that it was bigger on the inside, and she knew the man was a doctor, but he didn't have a name, and his friends were just people who had bumped into him while he was on his adventures. She could never get interested in the show, even though her best friend Mattie, who was a self proclaimed Whovian, constantly played episodes when they had sleepovers.

No, _Doctor Who _was not for Sierra; she was a _Sherlock _fan. Two series, six episodes, each being the length of a film-that was all she had known ever since the fateful day she'd been surfing the internet and came across a photograph of the ever-so-beautiful Benedict Cumberbatch. _"Benedict Cumberbatch on the set of Sherlock" _the caption read. She did a Google search of the show, and found a link to watch the pilot episode online. She fell in love with the show almost instantly. The first series had concluded when she became a fan, but she had been glued to her television when the second series premiered. Mattie never understood her _Sherlock _obsession. "It's just like any other crime show," she'd say, but it wasn't. It was so much more than any other crime show.

"Apparently, Benedict Cumberbatch has a group of fans called 'Cumberbitches,'" Mattie said, looking up from her laptop screen. She was lying down on her bed, while next to her, less than two feet away, was Sierra, also lying down and on her laptop.

Most people didn't understand their friendship. They didn't get the way that they could both be on the internet, next to each other, and simply blog about television shows on a strange website that had moving pictures. They were sixteen year old girls, they should be having fun and socializing—but they were doing just that, in their own way.

"Cumberbitches?" Sierra asked, looking slightly confused. "That's weird."

"Are you a Cumberbitch?" Mattie asked, and they both laughed. "Oh, so I have something to tell you from the other day."

"What?"

"It was when I went to the library and then to Starbucks. I swear I saw a guy that looked just like Sherlock."

"Did you take a picture?" Sierra asked, with her interest now peaked. She knew that Sherlock was a fictional character, and she knew that even if, by some magical force, he was real, he wouldn't be found in Colorado. He'd be on 221B Baker Street.

"No, but he was wearing a scarf and I thought of you." Mattie said, scrolling through a webpage.

"Anyone can wear a scarf," Sierra said, "that doesn't make them look like Sherlock."

Mattie simply shrugged. "I thought it was Sherlock," she said, and ended the conversation. For the next few hours, they talked about various things but for the most part they blogged, and they were content. It was a strange friendship indeed.

* * *

A few nights later, Sierra was re-watching an episode of _Sherlock. _It was around 3 AM, Mattie had fallen asleep hours ago, and as it was summer, she had nothing better to do. Her eyes were starting to ache from staring at her television for so long, and she was struggling to stay awake. She paused the show, threw the blankets off of herself, and got of bed and walked into the kitchen to get a drink. She was careful to be silent, since both of her parents were sleeping, as she searched the fridge to look for something to eat as well. She swung open the door to the pantry, and almost screamed.

A tall, skinny man with gravity-defying hair and a tweed jacket and bowtie was standing in her pantry. Actually, there _was _no pantry. Where the inside of the closet should have been, there was an oddly familiar coffee shop.

Sierra simply stood there with her mouth open. Why was there a coffee shop inside her pantry?

"I'm sorry, this doesn't appear to be the men's room," the man said. He had a familiar voice—she had definitely heard it before—

"Who are you?" Sierra asked, with a look of utter confusion on her face.

"I'm The Doctor," he replied.

"The Doctor? Why are you in my pantry?"

"I'm not in your pantry, I'm in a café! Why is your pantry in this café?" The Doctor replied. He spoke clear, fast, and with a British accent.

"I'm—_what is happening_?" Sierra said, speaking aloud to herself.

"You seem upset," The Doctor noted. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Get out of my pantry!" Sierra yelled, and slammed the door shut. Then, purely out of curiousity, she opened the door again, half-expecting it to just be a normal pantry, hoping that she had hallucinated the whole thing, but with no such results. The Doctor was still standing there, looking a bit miffed, in what appeared to be the back of the coffee shop.

"Well, that was a bit rude," he said.

Sierra began breathing heavily. She was confused and deeply scared, but at the same time, her mind was working at 400 miles a minute, trying to understand what on earth was happening, and simultaneously considering the possibility that everything she'd seen on TV was actually real. She took a few steps forward, and The Doctor stepped aside to let her through.

She looked around, taking in everything that was surrounding her. It was indeed a small indoor café, with circular tables and booths, and the smell of coffee was strong in the air. She kept turning back to see the doorway that led back to her house—this didn't make any sense to her, and she had so many questions, but she was unable to speak.

The Doctor, meanwhile, was looking at the doorway.

"Interesting…" he muttered to himself, while stepping through the doorway, into Sierra's kitchen, looking around, and then stepping back. Clearly, he was just as curious as Sierra to find out what was going on.

"Why is there a—a—" Sierra struggled to find the word, "a portal connecting my kitchen to _England_?"

"I'm not entirely sure why," The Doctor responded, "it could be a number of reasons."

"Like what?" Sierra asked.

"Nothing is coming to mind right now," he said, "It could have been planted there by someone. It could also be a simple gap between time zones. Is this an old house?" Sierra nodded. "Perhaps there was a portal left behind by a time agent."

"What is a time agent?"she asked.

"You ask an awful lot of questions," The Doctor crinkled his nose as he peered at Sierra. "What did you say your name was?"

"Sierra," she said, looking around at the people surrounding them. There were just a few, sitting at some of the booths, eating and talking, but what mostly caught her eye was the bustling crowd outside. They would pass by, glancing through the glass windows at the people inside, some of them even looking at her, at which point she felt horribly out of place in her pajamas and oversized T-shirt.

"How is any of this real?" she thought aloud.

"You look tired," The Doctor remarked. "How's this—you go back through this portal…thingamajig, and I'll try to figure out how you happen to have a portal thingamajig in your pantry."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm The Doctor!"

* * *

The next morning, Sierra woke up, convinced she had had a strange dream. _Obviously it wasn't real, _she thought. _My pantry is actually a secret portal that leads to a coffee shop in England. Yup. Definitely a dream._

Despite the small, nagging voice in the back of her head that was insisting that she had actually met The Doctor, she went on with her life, convincing herself that it was just a dream. She had listened to Mattie speak about this show one too many times, until the description of The Doctor was etched into her subconscious, which resulted in her crazy dream.

It was around noon that day when Sierra finally gave in to the voice. She needed to know if it really had been a dream—she needed closure. As she walked down the stairs from her bedroom to the kitchen, she felt that all of this dramatic build up would result in nothing. It would be revealed that her pantry was a regular pantry, and she would be conflicted on her emotions. Would she be relieved? Disappointed? She didn't know yet. And surprisingly, she'd never get to find out, because before she got a chance to open the door, the door opened by itself.

Well, not entirely. It was The Doctor.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, hello there! Good to see you, it's been a while, I was just starting to wonder whether I'd ever see you again, and then I remembered: portals can work both ways, not often, well, actually I'm not sure about that, but I figured it was worth a shot to try, after all, it's been—how long has it been?—it's been two weeks since we first met! Blimey, time goes by fast, I hardly even noticed how long it's been, but anyways, I wanted to let you know that I've been trying to figure out why your pantry has a portal in it, but I didn't find anything—it just _happens _to be a portal—there isn't a proper explanation for it, at least not one that I can find—and I've had help, too, it wasn't just me searching for answers—but this is quite weird, I will admit that—I'm starting to ramble, aren't I? Sorry, I tend to do that, it's just—oh well, how are you?"

Sierra was trying to wrap her head around the idea that there was a portal in her pantry and at the same time, she was trying to listen to The Doctor talk, which was proving to be an impossible task.

"Wait," she said, trying to recall everything he'd said. "It hasn't been two weeks since we spoke. It's been a few hours—nine, exactly."

The Doctor's expression fell as he worked to understand what Sierra was saying. "So, this is a portal…that goes through time streams?"

"Do you mean time zones?"

"No…" his voice trailed off as he became immersed in thought. "Time streams—well I'm sure you're aware of what time is, correct?—this portal seems to be connecting your time stream to mine—"

"What is a time stream?" Sierra interrupted. She was still unable to process any of the things that were happening—and now she had to learn new terminology?

"It's the way time moves," The Doctor replied absently. "For example, nine hours in your time stream is two weeks in mine, and this portal—" he turned to face the pantry door, "—is what connects the two. Now, I'm curious."

With that, The Doctor opened the door, stepped through, and was gone.

Sierra was stuck. She knew she only had a few moments to decide whether or not she would follow him, but she couldn't move her legs. She was confused and scared at the same time, but she was also craving an adventure. At the last moment, she swallowed the lump in her throat, and opened the door and stepped through the passageway as well.

It was the same familiar coffee shop. She looked around, scanning the entire area for any clues about where or how she'd seen this place before. Obviously, she'd been there the previous night—but even then, she had felt that she recognized the small café somehow, and was simply unable to place it. She didn't have much time for thinking, as she looked ahead and saw The Doctor, already outside, about to become lost in the crowd.

She wasn't aware of the fact that she'd begun running, but once outside, she looked up and down the street, and was unable to hold back a scream.

The crowd around her gawked as they walked by her, and she simply stood there, unable to move once again. The Doctor, who had been a few feet ahead of her, turned around in sheer panic, saw Sierra standing in the midst of the crowd, and came back running.

"What happened?" he asked, concerned. "Are you alright?"

She said something, but it was completely inaudible.

"What?" he asked again.

She looked up at him. "This is Baker Street," she whispered. "_Baker. Street."_

The Doctor looked around, as if he were expecting to see some sort of sign to understand what her implication was by this statement.

"Yes, this is Baker Street, there's a sign just right there, now, why did you scream?" he asked.

"Because this is Baker Street!" Sierra shouted. People passing by were now giving the pair very strange looks indeed, but The Doctor still didn't understand what the big fuss was about. "Do you _know _who lives on Baker Street?"

The Doctor looked around once again, this time a bit more confused. "Sherlock Holmes?"

Sierra let out a gasp. "He's—he's _real?_"

"Are you alright?" The Doctor asked for a third time.

Sierra rushed back into the café and took a seat in a booth, with her hands on her head. This was becoming entirely implausible. She hadn't stopped to think about _how _The Doctor was real, she was thinking of _how _there was a portal in her pantry. Now, both of these were very important questions. But she had to find out why—and how—The Doctor was real. As he came back into the café to check on her, she greeted him with questions.

"How are you real?" she asked. "How is any of this real?"

"I'm a Timelord," he said slowly. He bent down a bit to match with her eye level. "What's wrong? What is happening?"

"Timelords don't exist!" Sierra yelled. "They're just a character in a TV show—you're not real!"

And with that, she slapped him.

For a moment, they both just stayed there—Sierra sitting down, and The Doctor at her eye level. She bit her lip. "I am sorry," she said quietly. "I'm just—I don't get how this is—I'm sorry."

"It's alright," The Doctor said, "it's happened before. You've got a strong arm."

"Sorry," Sierra mumbled. "But, can you please explain to me how you're real?"

"I don't understand the question," The Doctor asked. "I'm real, you're real, this is all real, the portal is real—"

"The question is how?" Sierra said. "How can you be real? You're a fictional character. You're in a TV show. You're—you're Matt Smith!"

At this point, The Doctor was impossibly confused, not knowing anything that Sierra was saying.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, "I'm The Doctor."

* * *

"Unbelievable!"

"Doctor, calm down—"

"_How is this possible?"_

"Doctor—"

"They've broadcasted my life! My whole life! Anyone can just pick up the remote, turn on the telly and just watch my entire life!"

"They think it's just a fictional show," Sierra said. "just like I did."

"Doesn't matter what they think, what matters is the truth, and this—" he pointed to the small flat screen on Sierra's wall, "—this is—this is—this is wrong!"

"Doctor, nobody thinks this is real—this is a show, written by people and directed by people—nobody knows it's real."

"You know it's real," The Doctor said, almost accusingly. "Are you going to tell everyone? Are you going to let everyone know that the alien man with the blue police box is real?"

"Of course not," Sierra said, and reassuringly added, "even if I did, nobody would believe me. They'd just think I was a deranged fan."

"You have the portal for proof," he said. "You can just bring anyone you'd like into the alternate world and show them that everything on television is real."

"I would not do that. I would never do that. Do you realize how much chaos that would cause?"

The Doctor didn't speak for a long time. He stood in front of the television, staring at his own face on the screen—but it wasn't his face, not really. It was an actor, who looked exactly like him. He dressed like him, he spoke like him, he behaved like him, yet it was not him. He was beginning to understand the confusion Sierra felt upon her discovery. He knew there were multiple time streams, and to some extent, he knew about parallel universes, but he'd never thought _he'd _be affected by one.

"I just," he said, pausing to think. "this is incredible. This show, _Doctor Who—_what a creative title—documents my life. Yet, they have no idea it's all real."

Sierra wasn't sure if he was speaking to himself or actually starting a conversation with her. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead," The Doctor said absently.

"If…if you're real, and—and if Sherlock is real—what other characters are?"

The Doctor turned around to face her. "I have no idea. Until this moment, I believed everyone I knew was real, so that is a difficult question to answer."

"Well, let me ask something else—how do you know Sherlock?"

The Doctor exhaled. "In this alternate universe that you've stumbled upon, it's modern day for me. I do a lot of time traveling—"

"I know," Sierra said. "Sorry, it's just that my best friend loves the show."

He was taken aback a bit, but seemed to shrug it off. "Yes, very well then—so you must know that—through this show—I don't spend much time in one place?"

Sierra nodded.

"Right, well—when I do stay in one spot, it's usually to give the TARDIS a break, because she needs a rest every once in a while too, and—ah, here's the fun bit. Take a guess where I stay."

Sierra didn't understand what he meant, and she shook her head in confusion.

The Doctor seemed awfully happy to announce his area of residence to her.

"Baker Street."

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks so much for reading. Reviews are very much appreciated :-)**_


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